


Just A Boy

by Jennsepticeye



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Apologies, Christmas, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Drama, Homophobia, How Do I Tag, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Oxford Lodge, POV Alternating, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:49:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28297053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jennsepticeye/pseuds/Jennsepticeye
Summary: BazSnow is nervous. He keeps trying to fix his hair in the side view mirrors, even though it’s impossible to make his mop of curls look anything resembling neat. He’s just making a bigger mess of them. I tell him so.“Sorry.” He says, slouching down in his seat and pointedly crossing his arms. Now he just looks nervous and sad.
Relationships: Malcolm Grimm & Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Mordelia Grimm & Simon Snow, Mordelia Grimm & Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 4
Kudos: 52





	Just A Boy

**Author's Note:**

> This is an old WIP I had, and I hurried to type and finish it before christmas. So here it is. It's still Christmas eve here 
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

**Baz**

Snow is nervous. He keeps trying to fix his hair in the side view mirrors, even though it’s impossible to make his mop of curls look anything resembling neat. He’s just making a bigger mess of them. I tell him so.

“Sorry.” He says, slouching down in his seat and pointedly crossing his arms. Now he just looks nervous  _ and  _ sad.

“You don’t have to be nervous, Simon. You look fine.” I say, trying to cheer him up. He’s anxious enough on a regular day, he doesn’t need more stress than he already has.

“But I do. I don’t want them to hate me.”

_ Them.  _ My family. They insisted I come spend Christmas with them, and Penny is spending the holiday with her family. We couldn’t stand to leave Snow all alone in the flat. I almost refused to see my family until Daphne suggested I bring him too. I think it was probably Mordielia’s idea. She likes Simon.

“They don’t hate you. They invited you, remember?” I remind him.

“Last time I was at your house I created a hole over all of Hampshire, including your house. Of course they hate me.”

“That wasn’t your fault, Simon. And anyway, politeness is next to godliness with them. Even if they want you burned at the stake they’re not going to make a fuss about it and ruin Christmas.”

He rolls his eyes. “Thanks, Baz. I’m  _ so  _ comforted.”

He says it like a joke, but I can see the way his shoulders relax.

I turn the car into the Lodge’s driveway, the new residence until the hole closes over Hampshire. My father hates Oxford, but my mother bought the Lodge, so there’s no way he’ll dare sell it. I wonder if they’ve moved the gargoyle bed.

**Simon**

Of course I’m nervous. This time last year I was the bane of Malcom Grimm’s existence. Well, I probably still am the bane of his existence. Mage’s heir turned son’s Normal boyfriend. I’m really making a name for myself, and it’s not a good one.

Baz holds my hand as we walk up to the front door, which I appreciate. I like Baz’s hands. They’re warm and calloused with fire magick, but they’re always gentle with me. Nothing like before, back when we were roommates.

Daphne Grimm answers the door, smiling brightly. “Basilton! It’s so good to see you!”

He gives her a one-armed hug so he doesn’t have to let go of my hand. What a sap.

“Simon. It’s good to see you again.”

“It’s nice to see you too, Mrs. Grimm. Happy Christmas.” I say.

“Call me, Daphne, please. And come inside you two, you’ll catch your death out here.”

The Oxford Lodge is only slightly less ostentatious than the house in Hampshire. More rustic than Edwardian. I think. I don’t know much about interior design.

As soon as we step into the entryway Mordelia dashes out to greet us, ignoring Vera’s shouting about her running in the house.

“Baz! Simon!” She shouts, latching herself around Baz’s legs, which I will tease him about later. He likes to think that he’s dark and mysterious, but he’s not.

“Oof! You’re getting so big ‘Delia.” He says, smiling at her.

She releases Baz and hugs me next. “Simon! Did you remember to tell Father Christmas you’re here this time?”

“I did.” I tell her, because there’s no way I will ever say anything to disappoint her. “Baz was sure to remind me.”

In Hampshire everything was constricting and formal. Banal even. I don’t know what it is, but Oxford has more energy. It’s a kind of chaos I haven’t seen since my last stint in a group home.

“We just gotta make sure he doesn't stop up the chimneys.” Mordelia says, blowing a raspberry at Baz. He frowns at me when I laugh, but I can tell he’s not actually upset.

“Basil.”

Baz frowns for real when his father enters. Malcolm Grimm looks just as unhappy as the last time I saw him. Baz doesn’t say anything, only nodding to acknowledge his father.

“Mageling.” He says to me, and I can feel Baz tense. He knows how much I hate being called that.

“Father.” Baz says in a warning tone. It makes me feel warm, knowing how much he cares.

Malcolm Grimm only hums and turns sharply to leave. It’s about what I was expecting anyway. 

Daphne claps her hands together, dispelling the tension in the room. “Well, let’s get you set up in your rooms. Your Aunt Fiona will be here this evening.”

**Baz**

_ Rooms?  _ Does she really expect Simon and I to sleep in separate rooms. We’ve been together for almost exactly a year now, and we lived together for eight years before that. I just know this is my father’s doing, probably on the half-arsed excuse of sheltering Mordelia.

It took four separate sessions with Simon’s therapist for me to break the mindset that my sexuality was inherently wrong. Internalized homophobia she called it. All caused by my father’s constant yammering about the old ways.  _ ‘Think how it reflects on the family, Basil’  _ he’d probably say. I certainly don’t want those kinds of views rubbing off on little ‘Delia.

I must have gotten lost in my thoughts because Simon nudges me.

“We’re staying in separate rooms?” I ask.

Daphne falters. “Yes, your father thought it best.”

Called it.

“You may as well put us together. We’ll end up that way in the end anyway.”

Simon bawks at me. Even now, nine years later, he’s not used to my bluntness.

“If you put us in two rooms Aunt Fiona will have to sleep on the sofa. That doesn’t make any sense.”

Daphne looks conflicted. “Well alright, but no—”

“We lived together for eight years. I think we can refrain from shagging for three days.”

Luckily we’ve wandered out of Mordelia’s earshot. Simon still smacks my arm with a scandalized “Baz!”

Daphne is equally unimpressed and only sighs, pointing towards my usual room at the Lodge. “Make yourself at home. Dinner will be at six pm sharp.”

**Simon**

At the very least, Daphne and Mordelia seem to like me, which is enough to balance out how much Malcom Grimm seems to hate me. I’m still not sure how Fiona feels about me though. We haven’t spoken since the Leaver’s Ball.

Baz closes the door behind us and flops onto the bed.

“Tired,  _ nemesis mine?”  _

He laughs. “How are you not? My family is exhausting.”

I shrug and join him on the bed. “Don’t have much to compare it to, I suppose. Also, Mordelia reminds me a bit of the little ones at the group homes.”

I kiss him, because I haven’t been able to since this morning, and I had to let go of his hand to hug Mordelia.

I really like kissing Baz. Between the two of us, it’s one of the few things that I have more experience at, and his lips are always soft and cool. I don’t wear my cross anymore either, not regularly anyway. He still makes me put it on if he hasn’t been able to feed in a while.

We don’t kiss for long. We still have to unpack the gifts. Baz had tried to insist that I didn’t need to give anything, but it felt like bad manners to show up with nothing, especially considering my history with his family. So we bought separate gifts, though Baz heavily advised my purchases.

Christmas Eve dinner is much less formal than Christmas Day, but Baz still makes me change my shirt. It feels like a huge accomplishment when I convince him to eat at least a few bites at the table.

It’s uncomfortably quiet for the entire meal, and I’m sure my table manners aren’t up to par, but I try not to think about it too much.

When Fiona arrives she doesn’t glare at me, which I count as a win. Most of Baz’s family doesn’t hate me. (Though I can’t say for sure what the baby thinks.)

**Baz**

What Snow now lacks in magick, he more than makes up for in charisma and stubbornness. Crowley, I am living a charmed life so long as he’s in it.

I can see my father looking between up, probably waiting for us to do something he can acceptably get angry for. I won’t give him the satisfaction though.

I even let Simon convince me to eat something, even though Vera will bring a plate to our room later.  _ Our  _ room. I’ve grown rather fond of referring to things as “ours.” Our bed, our room, and maybe someday, our home.

Being around my family always makes me antsy, and all I really want to do is feed, and curl up by the fire with Simon. Maybe I’ll get lucky and sleep through all of Christmas.

I probably won’t sleep through Christmas, but I do find a deer in the woods, and we get to curl up on a pile of cushions in front of the fireplace in the bedroom.

“What’s your happiest Christmas memory?” Snow asks out of the blue.

“What?”

“What’s your happiest Christmas memory? It feels like something I should know.”

I shrug. “When I was ten Fiona took me out for a day trip instead of giving me a gift. I was a spoiled brat, so of course I made a fuss. But she took me to a park, a Normal park. She knew my father didn’t let me play with other kids, or do the things that other kids got to do because I’m a vampire. We spent hours there. Fiona pushed me on the swings and a group of kids let me play tag with them. It was cold and miserable, but I had a good time. It was the first time I felt like a normal kid. Lowercase n.”

Snow has a look on his face, something sympathetic but not sad. I kiss him because I can.

“What about you?” I ask. “What’s your happiest Christmas memory?”

He ponders for a moment. “This. This is my happiest Christmas memory.”

Merlin and Morgana I love him.

We must fall asleep there because I wake up to Mordelia storming into the room.

“Baz! Simon! Wake up! It’s Christmas!”

We’re still on the floor, and Simon’s wings have come unspelled. Mordelia, thankfully, doesn’t seem phased.

“Why does Simon have wings?”

Simon finally rouses, sitting up unsteadily. “Because I didn’t listen to adults when playing with magick.”

Mordelia accepts this before remembering why she’s here in the first place. “Hurry up and get dressed! We’ll open presents without you!”

**Simon**

Once Mordelia leaves Baz gives me a strange look.

I shrug. “If a child asks you a question you don’t want to answer, turn it into a lesson.”

Baz laughs. “Come on, Chosen One. I’ll spell your wings and we can head downstairs.”

A few months ago Penny and I finally made Baz sit down and watch Star Wars so he could stop using  _ Nothing to see here.  _ He liked the movies, and when he spells my wings away it tends to last all day. 

We’re not the last one’s down to the sitting room, but it’s close. Fiona is the only one still struggling out of bed. Mordelia and the baby (the toddler?) are bouncing around in excitement. Daphne is smiling, Mr. Grimm is not. I can never tell what emotion he’s feeling. He’s much better at masking them than Baz is.

Baz and I sit close together on one of the couches to wait for Fiona. She doesn’t take long, but she looks the most exhausted. Her hair is messy and she clutches her cup of coffee like a lifeline.

Mordelia excitedly assigns herself the role of gift distributor, running between the tree and the family members, occasionally stopping to sit and tear the paper off of her own presents.

Christmas last year was a disaster and a half. Before that, I spent my holidays at Watford or with Agatha, and before that, I spent them in the group homes. None of those compare to this. Even if I'm not family, it kind of feels like I belong here. I’ve never felt like that at Christmas.

Fiona likes my gift of a shoe polishing kit and a gold cross (Baz thought it was funny), and she even smiles at me. Baz says that means she likes me. I’m glad she likes it, because neither I nor Baz had any idea what to get her.

I think Mr. Grimm almost smiles at the neck tie, but again, I can never be sure. Mordelia seems the most appreciative of her gift, a plushie otter. I don’t even know how Baz knew that was her favorite, since Daphne says it changes weekly.

There’s a lapse of silence, a moment where it seems like all the gifts have been given.

“Wait! There’s one more!” Mordelia calls from somewhere under the tree. “It’s for Simon!”

She emerges with a somewhat small parcel. I know it’s from Baz because he chose the most obnoxious gift wrap he could find.

I pull off the paper to reveal… a cookbook? I give Baz a questioning look.

“I used every last favor I had with Cook Prichard for the name of that book. Flip to page thirty-seven.”

I do as I’m told and the top of the page reads  _ ‘Sour Cherry Scones.’ _

Baz keeps talking. “He says you should double the cherries and use full fat butter.”

_ Aleister Crowley,  _ how did I end up with such a wonderful boyfriend? One who notices my favourite foods without even having to ask? I want to kiss him, so I do.

**Baz**

I guess Simon likes the cookbook then.

My father clears his throat and I startle. Kissing Simon always makes me forget about the rest of the world. “Basilton, can I speak to you for a moment?”

Fiona and Daphne give him warning looks, but he ignores them. Still, it’s nice to know that they’re on my side. I follow my father into his office.

He stands with his arms crossed, the same stance I used to mimic. He doesn’t say anything, almost like he’s waiting for me to apologize, or try and defend myself. I don’t. There’s nothing to defend.

He must realize I don’t plan on speaking first. He sighs and pours himself a glass of scotch from the decanter. It’s only ten am. Nice to know my queerness is enough to reduce him to day drinking.

“Are you doing to tell me what I did wrong, or are we going to glare at each other in silence like children?”

“I’m disappointed in you, Basil.”

I scoff. “Like that’s new.”

He pointedly ignores my comment. “I can deal with your… affliction—”

“You can just say vampire.”

“I can handle you being gay. I can even handle you snogging the Mage’s Heir—”

“Don’t call him that.”

He continues as if I hadn’t spoken at all. “But you are under my roof, and I will not tolerate that kind of influence on Mordelia.”

So that’s what this is about. He’s upset that I kissed snow in front of Mordelia. I laugh, because the whole thing is frankly, ridiculous. “Morgana’s tits, you’re upset I kissed Snow in front of Mordelia? Really?”

“Basil—”

“What justifiable reason could you have for that? What are you afraid is going to happen? That she’ll grow up and not be ashamed of something she can’t control? Maybe she’ll realize the old ways aren’t all they’re cracked up to be? She won’t find a rich, powerful fire magician to marry?”

“The old ways—” I don’t let him continue. I’m on a roll, as Simon might say.

“—are decaying as we speak. They were decaying when we stopped eating pixies, and when Watford stopped segregating magicians by wealth and born power. You’re only clinging to the old ways because of the power they give this family over the world of Mages.”

“You are severely out of line, Basilton.”

“Maybe, but someone needs to say it. Someone needs to point out how you pick and choose evidence to suit the story you want to tell. If you really were set in the old ways, you would have killed me when I turned. You would have had me stricken when I came out. You would have pulled my fangs and broken my wand. You didn’t do any of that. You’ve always been half-arsed when it comes to following the old ways.”

“Because you’re my son.”

“And therefore the only one who can pass on the Grimm-Pitch name, right? You haven’t treated me like your son since mum died.” I snap.

“Don’t you bring her into this.”

“Why not? It’s the truth. You stopped caring about my happiness the moment she died and I turned.”

When I used to argue with Snow I always kept my cool. It pissed him off to no end. Unfortunately, I learned it from my father, and he’s had more practice than me.

“You’re throwing away your future.” He says, stone faced.

“My future? Sure, the one you had planned for me. That’s all you’ve ever cared about, how my actions reflect on you. I’m  _ happy  _ for the first time in a while. I am happy with Simon and I am happy working at a Normal coffee shop. Simon is a huge part of my life now. I’m not going to pretend he’s not just so Mordelia won’t grow up more accepting than you.” If I had blood my face would be red. I really hope Simon and ‘Delia can’t hear us.

**Simon**

I can hear them arguing. Fortunately Daphne convinced Mordelia to put on her new headphones but I can still hear them. It's beyond awkward. What do you say to ease the tension of your boyfriend having a row with his homophobic father?

There’s nothing to say, so we sit in silence, occasionally making awkward eye contact.

**Baz**

For once, finally, my father seems at a loss for words. I’m exhausted.

“You’re either all in on the old ways, or not at all. You’re either my father who cares about me, or nothing. The world is changing, you need to catch up.”

On that incredible line, I turn and leave. Snow is standing when I reach the sitting room, so I grab his hand and pull him with me. I don’t stop or let go until we’re back in our bedroom.

**Simon**

Baz doesn’t say anything for a long while. He starts up a fire in silence and stares at it. I sit down with him on the floor and put an arm around his shoulders. I don’t know how to comfort him. I wish I did.

He starts crying.

Baz doesn’t cry often, not in front of me at least. He cries quietly, breath hitching occasionally. I hold him tighter. He’s just a boy, he doesn’t deserve this.

I never had family to come out to, but Baz did. They are his family, the people who should have supported him and made him feel safe. Instead his father made him feel scared and unwelcome in his own home.

“It’s gonna be okay, love.” I say, because I don’t know what else there is to say. I don’t know the right words. I don’t want him to feel like this. “Do you want to go home?”

Baz shakes his head. “I just want to pretend Christmas isn’t ruined.”

I want to argue, but Baz looks more dead than usual, so I nod instead. “Alright. Whatever you need, Baz.”

We don’t go back downstairs for a long time, even after Baz calms down. We don’t talk, but that’s not unusual. The quiet is nice after we spent so many years fighting.

It’s only after Fiona knocks to tell us lunch is ready that we pull ourselves from the floor. Malcolm Grimm isn’t there, no one is. Baz eats perched on the countertop. The whole thing makes me more nervous about dinner than I was last year.

**Baz**

I feel like I should say something about what happened but I can’t find the words. Instead we’re dancing around the issue and avoiding my whole family. Maybe we should have gone home like Simon suggested.

I let Simon coerce me into eating, because we didn’t have breakfast.

I want to hide in our room and pretend everything is fine.

I need a nap.

**Simon**

Baz needs a nap.

Eventually dinner time does arrive. Too soon in my opinion. It’s hardly dark out. Baz loans me another one of his suits to wear.

If I thought that last year’s silence was bad, this year’s is so much worse. It’s not any quieter, but the nervous looks and tense atmosphere make the whole meal drag on.

Daphne attempts to make conversation a few times but no one bites. I kind of feel bad for her. It’s easily the most stressful dinner I’ve ever been a part of.

I almost cry in relief when it’s over and we can retreat to our room. I wasn’t even the one being yelled at.

“You wanna talk about it?” I ask, once we’ve settled into bed. 

He sighs. “I’m just tired of him picking and choosing. When I realized that I was gay I read all these stories about parents kicking their kids out of the house. I just told myself ‘well, at least that didn’t happen. I should be grateful.’ I’m not asking him to go to parades or anything, I just want him to stop pretending like that part of me doesn’t exist.”

I grab his hands so he’ll listen to me. “It’s not unreasonable to want to be treated like a person, Baz.”

“I know, just sometimes I wish he had kicked me out. At least then I’d have an answer, you know? Instead I feel like I’m always guessing, and I’m always wrong.”

I kiss his forehead. “It's gonna be okay, love. Tomorrow we can go home and forget all the bad parts ever happened. I’ll bake some scones and you’ll nag me about how much butter I eat, and then I’ll point out how much sugar is in your coffee.”

That makes Baz laugh.

We fall asleep, thankfully in the bed this time, before the fire even starts to smoulder.

**Baz**

My eyes itch from crying when I wake up, and I need to pee, but Simon has made himself comfortable against my chest and he’s warm, so I don’t feel that inclined to move.

It doesn’t take long for him to join the land of the living (does it count as the land of the living if I’m half dead?), and he kisses me good morning.

“Oh Crowley, Baz. Go brush your teeth.”

“Like you’re any better, Snow. Something die in there?” I complain, though it doesn’t hold any heat because I kiss him right after.

I cast  _ ‘a place for everything and everything in its place’  _ to pack our belongings. I used to avoid using magick in front of Simon after he lost his. When he realized what I was doing he smacked me over the head and told me to stop being an idiot

My father doesn’t make an appearance to say goodbye, and I’m not sure how I feel about that. Should I be upset that he doesn’t care? Should I be relieved that I don’t have to see him? I don’t know. I think it’s both.

Mordelia is very insistent that I come to visit more often, and makes Simon and I pinky-promise. I’m just ready to fall into a heap on Simon and Bunce’s sofa.

**Simon**

After the somewhat disastrous Christmas, things do settle down. Baz and I fall back into our respective routines. I bake an unhealthy amount of sour cherry scones, and Baz stays the night often enough for me to question the idea of living separately.

And, by some miracle of magick, I convince Baz to talk to Rayshauna about Christmas. Things are going well. Until the letter arrives.

Baz is already waiting on the sofa when I get home from class. He’s staring off into space, draped in the quilt that Penny’s mum made me. He’s doing that thing where he brings his shoulders to his ears. He only does that when he’s seriously stressed.

“Baz?” I ask cautiously.

He shakes his head, turning to me with a tense smile. “Hi Simon.”

“What’s wrong?” I sit down next to him.

“I got a letter from my father.”

I frown. Malcolm Grimm has tried to call a few times over the last month, Baz always lets it ring. The envelope sits unopened on the coffee table.

“I didn’t want to be alone when I opened it.”

I rest a hand on his knee. “Baz, no matter what’s inside that envelope, I’m here for you. You’ve got me, and Penny, and Fiona.”

He nods and grabs the envelope. His hands are shaking. I don’t mention it.

**Baz**

I’m terrified. The last time I spoke to my father was in his office on Christmas. I’m not sure what I expect.

It’s written on heavy paper in a pretentiously fancy script. Of course. I wonder how much I would regret lighting the thing on fire without reading it.

_ Basilton, _

_ You’ve been avoiding me calls. I figured I’d make one last attempt before I give up. _

_ I owe you an apology. I won’t pretend that I understand your relationship with Simon Snow, or any of the choices you’ve made since graduating. I made you feel unsupported and unwelcome at Christmas. For that I am sorry. _

_ You’re my son, and you deserve to be happy. If that’s with Snow, I will learn to accept it. _

_ As for Mordelia _

Some words are scratched out and I can’t read them. Apparently he thought better of what he had written.

_ I was raised under the old ways, believing that homosexuals were lesser or dirty. I was wrong, and I need to set a better example so Mordelia doesn’t make the same mistakes that I have. _

_ I love you, and you will always have a place in this family. If you can forgive me, you’re always welcome here, as is Simon. _

_ Your father, _ _   
_ _ Malcolm Grimm _

I kind of want to laugh at how anticlimactic the whole thing is. I was so bent out of shape about what he might say, and all he said was “I’m sorry”

Snow, who has been reading over my shoulder, chuckles a little, squeezing my knee. “See? I told you everything would be fine.”

“You’re an idiot.” I tell him, with affection

“But you love me.” He says.

I do. I really do.

I kiss him. Maybe we’ll go back to Oxford next Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave kudos and comments if you enjoyed. it's so weird to write fanfiction in first person, ngl.


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